Chapter 8

When Martin got up and went to work the next morning, his mind was crowded with things he wanted to do the minute he got into his cube at the Sentinel. He didn’t even stop for breakfast with Don, not because he wasn’t hungry, but because he was anxious to get started on the action plan he concocted after leaving his mother’s house. He was going to fact-find, research and gather data on all things Frank Talbot and expose the guy for the monster he was. He was going to do everything he could to make it up to Sharla, and he was going to start today.
Martin knew that this would be no easy task. Copies of every Burnett County Sentinel published between 1928 and 1980 were stored in the small metal storage shed at the end of the building’s parking lot. Editions from 1980 to 2000 were kept on microfiche. And from 2001 on, electronic versions were filed within the paper’s computer system. Being holy week, all regular activities were suspended so there would be no assignments to Chamber of Commerce or School Board meetings. Martin’s only challenge would be to explain to Clark Grayson why he had a sudden interest in Frank Talbot and why he needed to dig into back issues of the Sentinel.

On his way to the office, Martin stopped at the Chattering Squirrel to pick up some hot caramel rolls that he knew would grease the skids in getting Clark to give up the keys to the shed and access to the microfiche machine. He even had the Connie, the young girl at the register, fill several cups of coffee to go and grabbed a handful of creamers to take with him. Clark loved his coffee tan colored with lots cream and would appreciate having the real stuff instead of the powdered version offered up at the Sentinel break room.
Martin juggled the rolls and coffee and carefully opened the glass door into the Sentinel building only to run into Sam Jackson. “Whoa, Marty, let me help you there,” Sam said brightly, trying to grab some of the items that threatened to fall out of Martin’s hands. “What do you got going there, Buddy? Are we having a party or something?”
“Thanks, Sam,” Martin answered, happy to have some help, even if it was from Sam. “Nope, just thought I bring in some treats today to help us get through the first day of a boring week.”
Sam’s lips widened into a goofy grin that showed off his yellow teeth. “Wow, that’s nice of you, Marty. I didn’t have breakfast today.”
Martin and Sam walked through the empty reception area, and Sam added, “Glad I got here early. We’d better save some goodies for Shirl.” Shirley Campbell was the face of the Burnett County Sentinel, the one who answered the phones and greeted guests. Part receptionist, part guard dog, she’d worked at the paper for 34 years, and hadn’t changed her look once during that time. The receptionist job was her first after graduating from Siren High School, and she never felt the need to move up or move on. Shirley’s husband, Greg, graduated with her the same year and worked for Jeff Howe in his construction company where he did beautiful inside finishing work on many homes and lodges built by Howe Construction in Burnett County. They never had children, and if anyone had been invited to their modest cabin on Devil’s Lake outside of Webster, they would have told you that they pretty much liked their life just the way it was.
Martin swore that the fringed suede vest Shirley sported at least once a week was probably the one she wore to the spring woodsy of her senior year in high school, the woodsy where she finally gave up her virginity to Greg. Long, gray, stringy hair, parted in the middle, granny glasses and some version of love beads were a permanent part of her daily get up. Shirley alternated between wearing the long, flowing skirts that she loved with her fringed suede vest or oversized corduroy jumpers with cotton turtlenecks, tights and Swedish clogs. It’s like she never left the 70s. Clark called her a “cracker jack” on the phone. She never missed a call or transposed numbers, and made sure anyone walking into the Sentinel Building had business there. No one was allowed in unless they had an appointment.
Martin and Sam walked into the break room, set down the coffee and rolls and within seconds, three of their fellow early risers joined them to inhale the delicious smell of fresh coffee and the sugary, doughy goodness of the pasty. Jerry Hampton, the sports writer, Einar Anderson, an assistant editor and Ronnie Hemple, in sales, were always the first three people at work each morning, just after Clark. Martin could never decide if they were really that ambitious or just anxious to get away from their wives each day.
A strange feeling of brotherhood spread among the group and as they dug in, the unusual sound of boisterous talking and laughing spread throughout the office. “What the hell is going on in there?” boomed Clark Grayson’s voice from his glass walled office in the corner. Everyone fell silent for the moment, and then burst out laughing. “Martin just stopped at the Squirrel to pick up some rolls on his way in, and…” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence before they heard Clark’s chair scrape across the hardwood floor and his heavy footsteps hurry across the room. “Cinnamon or caramel rolls?” he asked when he got to the door.

After consuming one or two rolls each and getting refills on their coffee, everyone went to their desks to start their work for the day. Clark walked with Martin to his cube and asked, “So what’s on the docket this week, Martin? You know, Holy Week is a great time to do some work you can’t get to when things are busier.” Martin couldn’t have asked for a better opening, and Clark hadn’t disappointed him in delivering the same encouragement the Monday of Holy Week for the past 2 years. “Well, I do have an idea for a spring story,” Martin began. “I was thinking about doing a feature on a teacher who is retiring this year after spending his entire career here. Someone like Frank Talbot…”
Clark squinted his eyes, looked at Martin sideways and said, “Hmmm…sort of an historical tribute? A thank you for all the years of service? A retrospective on how he has touched the youth of our community?”
Martin squashed the sick feeling in his stomach. “Yeah, something like that.”
Clark started nodding his head and said, “Good! I like it. Go for it, and keep me posted on how it develops.” He turned and walked quickly towards his office and then turned back. “Why Frank Talbot?” he asked with a curious cock to his head.
Martin took in a deep breath and replied, “Oh, I don’t know. The name just popped out at me when I was reading the school board minutes. Stories keep coming up about Mr. Talbot whenever I talk to former students. And I did have him as a science teacher myself…”
Clark nodded again, and turned and walked away again. “Yeah, that’s good, that’s good. Just have Shirley get you what you need if you need to dig into the archives,” he called over his shoulder as he went into his office and closed the door.
Martin couldn’t believe his luck and how easy it had been to access the tools that would lead to exposing Frank Talbot for who he was. Now, he just needed to navigate the waters of access with Shirley.